The Keely Series part 1
by Nicole Berman
Summary: Keely, a twentysomething bartender in Georgetown, witnesses the ups and downs of Harm and Mac's relationship, and meets AJ Chegwidden, which changes the rest of her life.
1. Mudslides and a Sympathetic Ear

O'Reilly's   
Georgetown   
1932 PM 

I throw open the painted glass door, a smile immediately creeping to my face. No matter what kind of day I've had, I know once I get behind that bar and slip on that green apron, all the problems just slip away like the condensation of the drinks I pour. 

Don't you just love English majors? 

A cheer rises up in the bar at my arrival, and I just shake my head, lifting up the bar panel and slipping under. I dump my backpack and jacket behind the alcohol stash and pull my apron over my head. Haphazardly tying my quintessential Irish red hair in a messy bun, I wash my hands and belly up to the backside of the bar, dropping a few kisses on my favorite regulars' cheeks. 

I immediately strike up a conversation with three different people until I feel a large, steady hand at the small of my back. I crane my neck up and my uncle Shaun kisses my cheek. "Hey, lassie." 

"Hey, lad. You off?" I ask, itching my freckled nose with my sleeve. 

He nods, handing me the key to the cash drawer and the credit tallies for the different groups in the bar. It's crowded for a Thursday night, until I realize it's graduate finals for both Georgetown and George Washington. I wave Uncle Shaun off, ordering him home to bed, and turn my attention back to my bar customers. 

The door chimes once again, announcing another patron. Half the bar looks up, myself included, and not recognizing the man, they go back to their games of pool or darts or just their beers. He walks up to the bar, and I can immediately sense an air of sadness and rejection about him. He sits on an empty barstool right in front of me. I slap down a coaster in front of him, drying my hands on the bottom of my apron. "What'll it be?" I ask quietly. 

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "What kind of mixed drinks do you have?" 

I shrug and hand him our mixed drink list. "What do you want?" 

He examines the menu and finally sets it down. "I'll try a Mudslide." 

I nod and set about making the drink, watching him carefully out of the corner of my eye. He takes off his trench coat, revealing a Navy uniform. I furrow my brow; either my eyes are going or my memory is, because that Navy uniform doesn't look anything like the ones I see running around campus. He has a distinctive profile, his nose and chin jetting out. His eyes are wide but tired, and he keeps running a hand through his hair, causing a stray lock to dangle precariously over his forehead. 

Jack, a fellow bartender, comes up behind me to get a beer. He motions silently to the guy. "Ten bucks says he just got fired." 

I shake my head. "Ten bucks says he just got rejected." 

His blue eyes sparkle and he nods, accepting the challenge. I finish mixing the drink and carefully pour it out, setting it in front of the man, who is twiddling something between his fingers. 

I lean back and ask, "Do you want me to start a tab?" 

He shakes his head. "It'll just be this one. I needed to think." 

I nod, realizing he has an Australian accent. That's why I didn't recognize the uniform. But Australian or American, something is eating this guy, and as a bartender, it is my sworn duty to hear out any and all problems of my patrons. I may not be a psychology major at American, but I've been in O'Reilly's my entire life; hell, O'Reilly's *is* my entire life. I give myself a mental shake and return my attentions to the Australian Navy dude, taking a minute to pause and wave to the Michaels family; what a cute bunch they are. 

I look back at the man, who is still intent on whatever his fingers are playing with. "Um, that'll be $3.25, sir," I say, hating to break him out of his reverie but also dying to know what the hell he's thinking about. 

He looks up at me, blinking a few times and then pulls out his wallet, slapping a five on the counter. "Keep the change, Ms…" 

"Keely. My name's Keely. Just holler if you need anything, okay?" 

He nods. "Thank you, Keely." 

I smile and turn back to finish the growing pile of beer mugs; this is the bad part about coming to work so late. I finish a few before I hear a throat being cleared and the Australian guy saying, "Keely?" 

I turn around, grabbing a green and white checkered towel to dry my hands. "Can I get you something else?" 

He nods. "Can I have a few minutes of your time?" 

I nearly laugh at his politeness; most guys that come to this bar just start spilling their guts to me, figuratively and literally. I nod and hold up one finger, telling him to wait just a second, and drag my pile of dishes to be dried in front of him. "Go ahead," I finally say, pulling up my own stool and beginning to dry. 

He drops a beautiful diamond solitaire on the countertop, and as a result, I nearly drop the mug I was drying. "Wow," I say. "Who's the lucky girl?" 

He chuckles sardonically. "You want it?" 

I look at him, my green eyes widening. "She said no?" 

He nodded, sighing and shaking his now settled drink up. "I never had a chance with her, you know." 

"Why's that?" I ask, picking up another mug. 

"She's in love with someone else," he says, moving the ring around the countertop with his finger. 

"That's too bad." 

"It took her two months to figure it out when I knew it all along." 

I look at him, confused. "If you knew, why'd you ask her?" 

He sighs loudly, his lips pursing. "I thought maybe I could change her mind." 

I cluck my tongue and shake my head. "You can't fool love, no matter how hard you try." 

He chuckles and nods slightly, sighing again, his gaze not moving from the ring. "She slapped me the second time we met." 

I can't control the small huff of laughter that escapes me. I look sheepishly down at the bar. "Sorry," I say quietly. 

He chuckles too, looking up at me with sorrowful eyes. "No, it's okay. Sometimes you get blinded." 

I nod emphatically. "Yeah, you do." 

He continues to look at me, and I start to feel a little unnerved at his unwavering gaze. "Have you ever been blinded by love?" 

I nod. "Who hasn't?" 

He nods again, returning his attentions to his glass. "I flew in from Sydney to surprise her. Went to her work and shocked the bloody hell out of her…but it was there in her eyes. Her partner—that's the sot she's in love with—walked in and I saw the way she looked at him…like her hand had been caught in the cookie jar. I just knew. So after he left, I looked at her, and she cocked her head and said like she does 'Mic'…and I just smiled. Then she gave me the ring back and I walked out." 

I shake my head. "I'm so sorry." 

He shrugs. "My head's telling me it's better this way…" 

I wave a hand at him, cutting him off. "Who cares what your head says? It's your heart that matters." 

He smiles and sighs again. He pockets the ring and looks up at me, gathering his coat. "Well, I need to get back to Sydney. Thanks." 

I shrug, taking his glass. "Hey, that's what O'Reilly's is all about…mudslides and a sympathetic ear." 

He smiles briefly, turning on his heel and walking out with military briskness. 

Jack comes up behind me. "So who won?" 

I turn and hold my palm out to him. "Pay up, doofus." 

He grins and shakes his head, muttering, "Later." The door dings again and I turn, seeing two more military types—oh, God, they're breeding!—who take over the Australian's seat and the one his coat was occupying. 

I place two coasters in front of them as the guy, dressed in a uniform I actually recognize, helps the woman, stunning in Marine Green, off with her coat. "Hi, I'm Keely…what can I get you?" 

He looks at her. "Mac?" 

She smiles beatifically at him, and I immediately notice the warmth in her gaze towards him. "Tonic water with a twist of lime, please." 

He looks at me. "I'll have a Guinness." 

I nod and head off to fill their order. Jack comes up again, nodding towards the couple. "Ten bucks says they're doing it." 

I chuckle and shake my head. "Ten bucks says they're madly in love." 

He holds out his hand, which I shake boldly. 

I take the drinks over to them and smile. Jack owes me $20. 

End Ch. 1


	2. Witness

Make me a witness. Take me up out of the darkness, out of doubt. I won't weigh you down with good intentions, won't make fire out of clay or other inventions. Will we burn in heaven, like we do

down here? Will a change come while we're waiting? Everyone is waiting. –Sarah McLachlan 

* * *   
  


Washington Harbour   
Outside of Georgetown   
2048 PM 

This bloody sucks.   
  
There are no other words to describe it. It just bloody sucks. 

I left O'Reilly's feeling a little better about my decision to leave Mac alone, romantically speaking, but now, sitting out here on the water, I just want to curl up in a ball at her feet and beg her to give me another chance. 

Washington Harbour is an amazingly beautiful place, especially this late at night. There is a slight warm breeze, but the water of the Potomac is almost eerily still. The lights from the Kennedy Center and the Watergate complex reflect on the water, as do the several restaurants and streetlights that edge the shore. A few boats are docked here, but the majority of the action tonight is going on in Sequoia and Tony & Joe's. I look up at Sequoia's deck and a fleeting thought of wanting to bring Mac here for a nice seafood meal sneaks into my head. 

Mac. 

Michael Brumby, you are officially a schmuck. 

I sit wearily on one of the wooden benches along the boardwalk, resting my elbows on my bent knees. Water has always had a calming affect on me and allowed me to think, but tonight I look out at the Potomac River and all I see is a dark, muddy river, which is of no help to me. I lean back against the back of the bench, exhaling loudly. My hand sneaks in my pocket on its own accord and pulls out Sarah's engagement ring that she returned to me this afternoon. It catches the dim light, shooting short rays every which way, and I am reminded of the way it did that in the display case and when I handed it to Sarah on the ferry. Although, come to think of it, it could have been that luminous smile of hers that lit the ring up that night. I smile wearily as I remember that moment, and then close my eyes, remembering the closeness of her, the way her hair smelled like freesia—I always knew she had a secret thing for Bath and Body Works. A pit settles in my stomach as the reality of actually losing her sinks in. 

 *Schmuck*, I think angrily. 

I sigh again and cross my legs at my ankles, slumping further into the bench, half wishing I could just disappear. I've had my heart broken, of course, but I doubt it's ever hurt this much before. 

I truly thought I could make her happy. I twiddle the ring between my fingers, and I finally admit to myself what that little voice in the back of my head had been saying for months. Sarah was in love with the idea of being in love with me, and all that came with it—marriage included. But deep down, she was in love with Rabb and I know that after the newness and fun of being married had passed, Sarah would have been absolutely miserable, which is something I'd kill myself to prevent. 

*But damn it*, I think, a lump building in my throat, *couldn't she have just tried?* 

I laugh humorlessly and look up at the sky. The sky is remarkably bright tonight, especially for being in the city. Maybe it's making up for the blackness I'm feeling right now. The breeze rustles the leaves and my hair and it brings a figurative breath of fresh air with it. I return to my original position, hunched over and still looking at the ring. She couldn't have tried because deep down, she knew she could never love me. The thing that really angers me—and yes, I'm allowed to be angry—is that Sarah Mackenzie has never shied away from anything for as long as I've known her, but when it comes to matters of the heart, she's the most scared person I know. 

That little voice that warned me so many times about loving her chimes in with his two cents. "Don't blame this on her; you were the one that pursued her even though you realized all this, schmuck." 

I literally shake that thought out of my head as one of the late flights from National flies overhead. I could never blame her; I love her too much to do that. 

I get up suddenly, deciding I need to continue my walk. I retrace my steps up the boardwalk and towards Georgetown. The pit in my stomach makes friends with the ache in my chest as I walk along the river, continuing my silent berating of myself. I sure do know how to pick 'em, I think with a wry smile. I do have to admit it was fun while it lasted—whatever 'it' consisted of. 

I continue up the boardwalk, past the TCBY yogurt and the small Japanese restaurant and follow the small road into Georgetown. I pass a small café where it's apparently Karaoke night. I pause outside as I hear a smoky alto sing in between giggling fits. "And when we're done soul-searching and we've carried the weight and died for a cause, is misery made beautiful right before our eyes? Mercy be revealed or blind us where we stand. Will we burn in heaven like we do down here? Will the change come while we're waiting…everyone is waiting." 

I wish everyone waited. I wish Sarah waited. 

Rationally I know that when she's unhappy, I'm unhappy; when she's happy, I am as well. And I know that being with me would make her unhappy, seeing that she's in love with someone else. But for once, my irrational side wants to win by telling me that she could have changed, could have grown to love me. 

I turn around again, walking back towards the center of Washington Harbour, and my room at the Swisshotel Watergate. I tell myself to let go, to hurt for a little bit, but to take solace in the fact that she's happy. 

That, after all, was the whole point. 

I look up as another plane flies overhead. Tomorrow, I'll be on a plane back home, hopefully to my future. I smile at the fact that Sarah has finally found hers. 

I walk briskly in the lobby and head immediately up to my room, calling and double checking my reservation home. I sit not so gingerly on the bed, removing my suit jacket and unbuttoning the top buttons on my dress shirt. I pull the ring out again and after another minute of inspection, place it on the bedside table. I get up and look out over the Potomac, and I can see over the hills into Georgetown, the wistful smile returning. 

"Goodbye, Sarah," I whisper, shutting the curtains and preparing to leave tomorrow, proud of myself. 

Saying goodbye is half the battle. Leaving and looking back will prove to be the other half. 

I'm certain I'll be able to do it. If not for my sake, for Sarah's. Always for Sarah. 

End Ch. 2


	3. Rainy Days and Tuesdays

O'Reilly's   
Georgetown   
2032 PM 

What is it with rainy days and Tuesdays? 

The Carpenters were so off in that song of theirs. 

It *always* rains on Tuesdays. It has in the Washington, DC, area for the past three weeks. Only it's not the soaking, cleansing rain that I don't mind walking in, it's this on-again, off-again drizzle that descends from the bright gray sky. How can a sky be both blindingly bright and gray? I have no idea. But it happens in DC, even at night. 

I wearily push the door of the bar open and smile weakly at the small gathering of staff and patrons that greet me as they always do, with a rousing cheer. I shake out my green umbrella and prop it next to the door to drip dry and hang up my overcoat, running a hand through my damp and frizzed hair. I love humidity. Really, I do.   
  
I lift up the wooden opening and duck under the bar, immediately slapped on the ass by Jack. I stick my tongue out at him and hoist myself up on the stool, drained from the longest day in history. 

Tuesdays are my terrible school day, and again, it rained today. Rain always puts me in a foul mood. I lift my head up and nearly fall back off the stool as a piercing blue-eyed gaze hits my face dead center. I flatten my palms against the bar, steadying and bracing myself. I have to literally shake the cobwebs out of my head before I can form a coherent sentence.   
  
"Can I help you?" 

The man, whose face I vaguely remember, nods. "What's on tap?" 

"Coors, Coors Light, Amstel and Sam Adams," I recite from memory. 

"You got any Guinness?" he finally asks, focusing his gaze on a spot above my head. 

I shrug. "Sure." 

He nods his acquiescence and I hop down from my perch, retrieving the drink. I place it and a coaster in front of him. "You want me to start a tab?" 

He nods. I inwardly groan; he's gonna be one of *those*, I can tell. I turn back to the register and my Uncle Shaun comes up next to me. I turn to say hello to him, but he simply says, "Suck it up and be a bartender, Keely Shannon O'Reilly." 

I rear back and look at him, and then sigh, defeated. I return to my perch and scan the bar. It's empty, save for a few businessmen and this guy, who is drowning his sorrows in his Guinness. 

I pull my hair back in a ponytail and sit down in front of him when it hits me. He was in here a few weeks ago, maybe a month, with a stunning brown-haired woman. I study him; the carefree and happy man that was here before is nowhere to be seen tonight. His replacement's shoulders are slumped over in defeat, his eyes downcast, his breathing deep and even, as if he is asleep from the exhaustion. 

I can't help but crane my neck down, nearly laying my head on the bar, in order to make eye contact with him. His head shoots up suddenly and I nearly fall over again with surprise. "I'm sorry," I stutter, clearing my throat. "Are you okay?" I blurt, berating myself immediately for my bluntness. Rule number one of being a bartender: always let the patrons come to you. 

He chuckles sardonically and shakes his head. "I'm fine, really." 

I shrug. "Suit yourself. I'm Keely if you need anything." 

He nods and then sighs heavily. I turn back to restock the shelves when I hear him say quietly, "Why does it always rain?" 

Startled, I turn back to him, mid stride. "What do you mean?" 

He looks up at me with an equally startled look, as if he hadn't realized he'd said it out loud. He is so reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights I want to burst out laughing, but for once, I restrain myself. Finally, he continues. "It just always rains." 

I cock my head, motioning for him to continue through my confusion. 

"I have this…this friend. We're more than friends, actually, we're best friends. And we've recently decided to…take that extra step, if you want to call it that. Only problem is that we work together." 

"The boss is giving you hell about it?" I ask, still confused what the hell the rain has to do with anything. 

He shakes his head. "No, nothing like that." He scoots forward on his stool, his beer half-forgotten, resting his elbows on the bar counter. "Everything was going wonderfully. We were easing into it, you know? Not rushing anything, at her request…she's had her share of problems with relationships, as have I. So we've just been taking these horribly slow baby steps, thinking we were going to have all the time in the world. And then, tonight…" He sweeps his arms up in a grand gesture. "I nearly lost her, amid the rain." 

I feel my stomach and heart clench up. "What happened?" I ask quietly. 

"We were working an investigation, tracking down a suspect. I got the brilliant idea to split up, figured we could cover more ground that way," he says sarcastically. "Then, all of the sudden, I heard this scuffle in the other room. I swear, I've never run faster in my entire life…but I was too late. She was lying on the ground and I thought, 'Oh God, I've lost her, I've killed her.' I ran to her side, cradled her head and she looked up at me with those delicious almond eyes of hers and fought to speak to me. I leaned my head down and nearly burst into tears at the thought of not smelling her Spring Rain perfume anymore…" He trails off and half of me wants to haul off and smack him for building up his story and not delivering the punch line, while the other half of me wants nothing more than to lean over the bar and give him a big hug. 

He clears his throat and continues, his voice strained. "She was shot in the leg by our suspect. She lost a lot of blood, but they say she's going to be okay." 

I reach out and pat his hand. "So everything's fine. She's fine, you're fine, we're all fine," I try to say soothingly. 

He shakes his head. "Everything happens when it rains. She was stalked and kidnapped and it was raining. Her little sister was missing and it was raining." He looks up at me with a mixture of bewilderment and defeat adorning his features. "She nearly died tonight and it was raining," he finishes with a strained and hoarse whisper. 

I look at him and debate on whether or not to put my two cents in. Normally I wouldn't, but somehow I know this guy needs all the encouragement he can get. "Well, I don't remember much about the high school meteorology class I took, but I do remember something. There's the calm before the storm, the storm itself, but it's the days after the storm that are the most breathtaking." He's not receptive to this, and I fish on what to say next.   
  


"My mother loves to tell this story about when she was in college and her car broke down on a rainy summer night," I finally say quietly, picking up old beer mugs to wash and dry. "She was driving home from her friend's house when her car just sputtered to a halt on the side of the road. There were no cars or call boxes or houses for miles…she just sat there for hours, terrified, watching the rain fall down her window. Then suddenly, there was a knock at her window. A good Samaritan had seen her car and offered his assistance. My mom took a chance and accepted a ride. They ended up exchanging phone numbers and got married two years later." I look up from the mug, hoping some semblance of recognition would adorn his face instead of the troubled look. I nearly sigh with relief as my BS-ed story seems to have gone over well and he nods. 

"Our godson was born on a rainy night," he finally offers. "I kissed her for the first time on a rainy night." 

I offer what I hope is a hopeful smile and he fights to smile back. Finally he does and I hear the "Rocky" theme playing in the back of my head. Victory at last. This one's sweeter, too, I think, but I can't dwell on that particular thought as a tall, brawny bald man walks into the bar, scanning the patrons for someone in particular. He looks over my way and starts walking over to the man. 

"Commander," he says quietly, and the guy nearly leaps off his chair to stand at attention before Mr. Clean holds up a hand. "At ease." He looks at me with a confused look and I simply smile. 

The Commander watches the exchange and motions to me with his hand. "This is Keely, Admiral." 

I extend my hand. "Admiral." 

"Keely." He nods briskly and then sits next to the Commander, talking quietly. I move to the back of the bar to give them some privacy and to get Jack back for his earlier greeting by wetting the bar towel with ice cold water and squeezing it down his shirt. I grin and glance back towards the two men, who are rising to leave. 

The Commander catches my eye and holds up a hand in a farewell gesture and I do the same. He and the Admiral walk towards the door and I smile wider when the Admiral stops his younger officer from opening his umbrella. 

It seems the skies have cleared once again. 

End Ch. 3


	4. Interludes

O'Reilly's   
Georgetown   
1038, EST   


"Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle, assise au près du feu, dévidant et filant…" I look up at the ceiling as I try to remember the first stanza of my French assignment. Why English majors still have to take a foreign language is beyond me, and I sigh in frustration. 

Jack comes up behind me and slings his gangly arm over my shoulder. Peering over me, he picks up the tattered piece of white paper that I've crumpled in frustration a dozen times this week. "Deerez, chawntant mys veries," he tries and then looks down at me. "What the hell's this?" 

I grab the paper back from him and smooth it out over the counter. "It's my French assignment. Please don't try and speak French ever again in my presence, all right?" 

He snorts and leans down to whisper in my ear, his breath tickling my neck. "Whatever you say, Keel." He straightens and moves out from behind the bar to back to his task of setting tables. "Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant…" I recite as I dry the pile of dishes in front of me. I hear the door chime jingle in announcement of a patron. I look up and say, "We're not open for another hour." 

The woman stops in her tracks and simply looks at me, as if she doesn't comprehend what I say. I cock my head and look at her; she looks like hell in a handbasket. She blinks a few times and then nods, turning to leave. 

"Wait," I find myself calling. She turns, her trench coat falling against her leg, and waits for me to continue. "I, uh, I suppose we have room for you…do you want a cup of coffee or something?" 

She nods and then moves up to the bar. I can hear her bones creak in protest as she climbs up on the barstool. I quickly pour her a cup of freshly brewed coffee and set it in front of her. "You want cream? Sugar?" 

She shakes her head and takes a sip of the coffee, making a face as the hot liquid enters her system. "Thanks," she finally manages, looking at me square in the face for the first time. Her dark almond eyes are tired, as is the rest of her body. Her chestnut hair falls limply around her face. I can't help but stare at her; it's as if she's carrying all the weight on the world on her shoulders and has no idea how to handle it. 

But before I can ask her anything, she turns my poem towards her and smiles as she reads the words. "I loved Ronsard in college." 

I smile and turn my head sideways to look at the paper. "Yeah, he does seem to have a way with words…when I can translate them correctly." 

She smiles, her long, delicate fingers playing with the edges of the paper. Her forehead crinkles slightly as she continues to read. "I don't remember this one very well." 

I nod my head, indicating the paper. "Basically, Ronsard is telling Hélène she'll be a better person because she was loved by him." 

She chuckles sardonically, bringing the mug to her lips, her eyes never leaving the paper. "Arrogant French." 

I shrug. "Arrogant men." 

Now she looks up at me, and there is a spark of something indefinable in her eyes. "That's true," she finally says softly, taking another sip of her coffee. She pushes the paper back towards me, saying, "If you need to be doing other things, I understand…I really appreciate you letting me sit down. I just, uh, needed to clear my head a bit." 

Rule number 45 of bartending: when a patron tells you that 'they understand if you have other things to do', that means get the hell away and leave them for quiet time. I nod and smile at her, knowing she'll probably call me back if she wants to talk. I go back to the backside of the bar, avoiding a collision with Jack as he blatantly checks me out while carrying the lunch dishes, and I roll my eyes. All is quiet in O'Reilly's for a few minutes until the phone rings. Jack's over pretending to work, and I'm closest, so I head back up to the front of the bar. 

"O'Reilly's…what?" I ask, looking at the phone. "No, I'm perfectly happy with my long-distance condom carrier, thank you. Uh-huh. Bye." I hang up the phone and smile contritely at our lone patron, who happened to seat herself right by the phone, and who is now looking at me rather curiously. "Excuse me just one second." I climb up on the bar and yell, "Jack, you are the *biggest* prick I have ever met!" 

I climb down, greeted by another very confused look from the woman. I shrug and explain, rolling my eyes, "Every week, Jack over there gets his brother to call me and say obscene things." 

She nods, a smile flitting across her features. "He likes you." 

I get the coffee and refill her cup. "Who, Jack? Forget it." 

"It's called unresolved sexual tension." She chuckles sardonically once more. "I know all about it." 

I say nothing at this, figuring she'll continue if she wants to. Her forehead crinkles again and she looks up at me. "Do you have that poem you were working on earlier?" 

I nod, pulling it out of my apron's pocket. I smooth it out and hand it to her. She looks over it, then points to the last stanza. "Vivez, si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain," she reads, then looks back up at me. "Live, if you believe me, don't wait until tomorrow." 

I nod. "Yeah, that's right." 

She pushes the paper back towards me and rubs her face with her hands. "If only it were that easy." 

I'm not quite sure what to make of that particular comment, so I simply wait for her to continue. She cocks her head, looking at me so intensely that I desperately want to look away. "I know you," she finally says. "I was in here, about a month and a half ago, with a tall sailor…" She trails off, actually laughing. "Like you'd remember, right?" 

I shake my head. Rule number 51: always remember your patrons. "No, I remember you…he ordered a Guinness, you ordered a tonic water with a twist of lime." 

She looks at me incredulously and I simply shrug. She sighs, playing with the coffee saucer. "I came in here that night because I knew what I wanted. I stopped waiting. And now…" She trails off, sighing heavily again. 

"You don't know what you want?" I ask gently, my curiosity getting the better of my bartender's judgment. 

Her head flies up, eyes widening. "Oh, no, I know *exactly* what I want. It's him that hasn't got a damn clue." 

"He was in here about two weeks ago, worried sick about you, if that makes you feel any better," I offer lamely, and she just chuckles again. 

"It was warranted then—I was shot, after all," she says sarcastically, shaking her head. "No, since then he's been distant, avoiding me. I don't understand him, and I'm so damn frustrated I don't even know what to do with myself." 

"Did you ask him about it?" I ask, leaning down and noticing her military uniform; she could totally beat the crap out of anyone who pissed her off. 

She waves her hand in the air. "I have tried every last tactic I can think of, short of holding him at gunpoint until he talks to me. Rationally," she pauses, running a hand through her hair, "rationally, I know it's just part of his personality to be distant sometimes, and to keep something from me…but am I such a fool that I thought getting romantically involved with him meant I had a little more access?" 

I know it's a rhetorical question, so I remain quiet. She looks up at the mirrored glass behind me, staring at her reflection. Slowly, she brings a hand up to her porcelain cheek, running her fingers down the smooth skin. She traces the outline of her eyes, simply looking, a smile finally breaking through those very features. I desperately want to know what the hell is going in her head, but am interrupted once again by the door opening and closing. I glance quickly and my suspicions are right; her sailor in shining dress whites has arrived. She must feel his presence, because she turns halfway and offers a sheepish smile. 

The man smiles back, not noticing me, simply looking back at her. It's one of the sweetest things in the world, a man who's in love. I back slowly away to the other end of the bar, giving them what little privacy they can have at the beginning of the lunch rush. Jack comes up behind me and lays his big old head on my shoulder as I turn to watch the interlude. "You're so nosy, Keely," he admonishes, hands lightly grazing my waist. I purse my lips and shrug out of his touch, watching the couple as he sits down next to her and starts trying to earnestly explain himself. She touches his cheek mid-sentence and just shakes her head. I can see her say, "It's not important." 

He smiles beatifically at her, and my heart melts even more. 

"Keely Shannon, stop gawking and start serving!" My Uncle Shaun reprimands, coming from the kitchen. I wave a hand at him, continuing to watch the interlude. He's touching her now, mimicking her earlier motion, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her face. In a split second, I realize what she was looking at; the worry, the age that had lined her face not more than forty-five minutes ago is gone with his mere presence. I smile, starting to gather menus. I turn my back for a split second, and they are gone when I turn back, the door clanging at their departure. 

I'll see them again, I think to myself, as I half-unconsciously whack Jack on the ass with the menus. I'll see another one of those interludes. 

And I can't wait.

End Ch. 4


	5. The Secret That I Keep

O'Reilly's   
Georgetown   
1903 

"The answer is *so* B, Jack, I would stake my pay on it!" I cry in frustration, my arms crossed, brow furrowed. 

"No way, Keely, look at Regis' face. He's like, 'No way, doofus, don't pick B. Don't pick B.'" 

I turn my back in disgust. That 'Millionaire' show bugs the hell out of me anyway. Tonight is an unbelievably slow night at the bar. Normally Wednesdays aren't this terrible; must be because all the politicians are out of town at the Convention or something. I can count the number of patrons we've had all day on one hand; that's pretty damn sad. 

I pick up the Post again and start rifling through the pages, looking for something, *anything* to amuse me. My attention is thankfully drawn from the slowly blurring letters to the door as our chime announces something to amuse me. I look up with a smile on my face. The man, a tall, good-looking older man, smiles contritely back and takes a seat in a far booth. Of course he has to be a long walk away. Oh, well, I need the exercise anyway. 

I pick up a coaster and saunter over to him. "Hi, I'm Keely. What can I get for you?" 

"Just a Coors, thanks." He smiles thinly again and I nod, heading back over to the bar. 

"Methinks you just got dissed, Special K." Jack comes up behind me, invading my space again. I should really see if one of my Tae Kwon Do moves to his groin would get him to shut up. 

"Methinks you're an ass, Jack. At least one of us is right." I finish pouring the drink and take it back over to the man, who is fiddling with his coaster and seems far too interested in the fake burgundy leather of the seat opposite him. "You need anything else?" I ask. 

"Nope, just waiting for someone, thanks." He sips his beer and I move away, idly wondering if Uncle Shaun would go for me dating a much older guy. 

No more than five minutes later, a shorter, chubbier man, also balding, enters the bar. Unlike the cute one, he doesn't even look in Jack's and my direction. He zeroes in our other patron and immediately sits down, wiping his glasses on his pants. He leans in extraordinarily close to the first gentleman, whom I now realize is wearing a Naval uniform, and begins talking forcefully. 

"I don't think you should go over there," Jack says with a singsong 'I told you so' edge to his voice. 

I pick up my pad and start to head over to the table, throwing over my shoulder, "If I can handle working with you every day, I can handle some bureaucrat with a pole up his ass." 

"Can I get you something to drink, sir?" I ask as I reach the edge of the table. Pudgy looks up at me, annoyance oozing from him. The Navy guy, whose emblems I recognize up close as an Admiral, simply looks at his own drink, as if he's trying to collect his thoughts. 

"Just water, please," Pudgy replies, returning his attention to Admiral Cutie. 

"Still or sparkling?" I ask. I hate to keep interrupting them (actually, I don't; I'm nosy), but it's part of the job. 

"Still." 

"Ice?" 

"Sure." Pudgy looks up at me, attempting to do so over the rims of his glasses. 

"Crushed or cubed?" 

"Would you just get the damn water?" 

I start a bit at his harsh tone, but shrug and turn on my heel to go get his damn water. I return in a few seconds, wanting desperately to slam the glass on the table and delight in the splash that would result. But I'm nothing if not a lady, so I just sweetly place his water on the table and go back to the Post. 

Pudgy and Cutie continue their conversation, but within minutes, it's grown to quite a loud shouting match. Actually, it's only Pudgy who's yelling, but I can tell Cutie's starting to get hot under the collar - literally this time. Finally, Pudgy practically yells, "Damn it, AJ, I said no. If you want to go down the tubes for something this trivial, fine! But don't expect me to go with you!" He throws a one on the table and storms out, the chime clanging loudly in his wake. 

I look over at AJ, who is sitting in the same position as he was before Pudgy made his grand entrance, staring blankly into space. Then, in a millisecond, his hand comes up from next to him and does a grand, sweeping gesture across the booth, coming in contact with his glass and shattering it, sending it all over the floor. 

I stare dumbfounded for a minute or two, then go over to the booth. "Are - are you all right, sir?" I ask, reaching for a napkin to try and clean up the small cuts on his knuckle. 

"I'm fine. I'm terribly sorry about the mess…Keely, was it?" 

I nod. "Don't even worry about it. We break more glasses during Happy Hour than I even care to count. Do you want me to get you some ice for your hand?" 

He looks at his fist and then shakes his head. "But I will take a Band-Aid or two if you have them." 

I work with Jack, so of course I have a First-Aid kit. "Follow me to the bar, and I'll patch you up." 

He does, and I set the small blue box on the countertop. I place two Sesame Street bandages over his knuckles and smile after I'm finished. "Good as new." 

He chuckles. "Thanks." 

"No problem." I start to clean up, and not so casually ask, "So exactly how big was that pole up his ass?" 

AJ laughs outright at this and shakes his head. "Bigger than any I've ever seen." 

"Me too." I desperately want to know what they were arguing about, but it would just be plain rude to ask straight out. 

He's quiet for a few more minutes and I fiddle around behind the bar. I flip aimlessly through the five stations we get - Uncle Shaun really needs to think about a satellite dish - when he speaks again. 

"It was a lot more crowded the last time I was in here." 

I turn and look at him, confused. "Have you been in here before? I thought I knew all my customers." 

He shakes his head a little. "I was in here, oh, about four months ago, picking up a friend of mine. He drunkenly introduced us before I took him home." 

I rack my brain and grin when I finally recall whom he was talking about. "The sailor whose partner-slash-girlfriend had been shot, right?" 

He gives me a strange look because I remembered, but just smiles a bit wistfully while he nods. "Yeah." 

"How's he doing, anyway? Both of them have been in here before, but I haven't seen them around lately." 

AJ's mouth contorts in a cross between the same wistfulness in his smile just a moment ago and annoyance. "Well," he begins, then pauses, looking up at the ceiling. "For them, it's great. For me, it's a living hell." 

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Why?" Then, hastily, "If you don't mind my asking, of course." 

"I'm their superior," he begins. "He's Navy, she's Corps. Because they work in the same office and in the same chain of command - mine - any fraternization is an offense punishable by court-martial. But they're just so *right* for each other, and so I'm trying to work around the rules without having to separate them." 

"Wow." I shake my head in partial disbelief. "I wish my boss would do something like that for me. Of course, he probably would, given the fact he's my uncle, but still…" I trail off, watching his expression. "So I'm assuming Pudgy over there doesn't want them together." 

AJ shrugs, playing with a nick in the countertop. "He just doesn't want to be bothered with it. Rabb's a bit of a sore spot with the SecNav, so I think he was hoping I'd give in and separate them." 

"And you don't want to?" 

"Hell no, I don't. Those two are the best damn lawyers I've ever seen, the best team I've ever had, and…" He trails off, and I'm surprised at the fatherly expression that overtakes his eyes. "And they deserve to be together. Everyone has a match in this life, and I don't want to be the reason they miss theirs." 

Dude, a cute Admiral who waxes poetic? Sign me up. 

I give myself a good mental slap and return to the conversation. "Can't you just keep it a secret?" 

He shakes his head. "I've tried. Doesn't work. SecNav only knows on an unofficial basis, so he can't really do anything, but once this gets out…" 

"It's all over." I finish the unwitting lie for him and shake my head. "Well, if you lose your job because of this, you could come work here. Jack doesn't need income." 

He laughs at this, and nods. "I'll keep that in mind." He looks around the bar and then at his watch. "I should be going…sorry about the glass thing. Can I pay you for it?" 

I wave a hand at him. "It's on the house. But I might just have to charge you for the Band-Aids." 

He smiles again, rising from the stool. "Thanks, Keely." 

I snap off a goofy salute and grin. "Anytime, Admiral. Let me know how things go." 

"Will do." He turns briskly on his heel and heads out the door, thankfully much quieter than Pudgy. 

I sigh and look around. Boring seems to describe my life these days. I flick off the TV and hunt around for the boom box under the bar. I plug it in and press play on the CD someone left in there, and start putting chairs up on tables. 

I realize the CD's mine the minute the raspy alto begins singing and gleefully run over to the bar and select track thirteen. I start singing along - loudly and off-key, of course. 

Standing on the edge of time   
Playing out a reckless pantomime   
And every day's another wrong to rectify   
I dream about a stranger's touch   
And voices in my head I cannot hush   
And every night's a hunger I can't satisfy 

It's the secret that I keep   
It's the ache that makes me weep   
And I know I'm in too deep   
I'm gonna drown   
It's the emptiness I fear   
Baby, please don't leave me here   
'Cause I'm lost inside a dream   
That's out of bounds 

A light chuckle scares the bejeezus out of me, and I whirl around. Instead of finding Jack, I see Admiral Cutie, his blue overcoat thrown over his forearm. Not knowing what to do, I give an impromptu bow and he smiles. 

"What song is that?" 

"Out of Bounds, by Amanda Marshall. Off of 'Tuesday's Child'. Good stuff." 

He nods thoughtfully. "Interesting. I, uh, forgot my coat." 

I nod in understanding. "Ah." 

"Goodnight, Keely." 

"'Night," I call after him and then smack my hand to my forehead. *Way to go, Ace,* I think angrily, finishing the late chores. 

I yell into the back room, folding up my paper and putting on my own coat. "Hey, Jack? I'm closing up early. The college interns can go to the other hundred bars tonight." 

Jack comes out, already prepared to go home. "Hey, Keel, what'll it take for you to dance for me like that?" 

I switch off the lights and lock the door, chuckling. "Um, how 'bout when you look like that guy? That'd be a good place to start." 

"Keel! What does that guy have that I don't have?" 

"Let it begin, Jack. Let it begin." 

End Ch. 5


	6. Gaelic Storm

O'Reilly's   
Georgetown   
2043 PM EST 

"Excuse me, *excuse* me. Thank you so much," I mutter sarcastically as I do a pretty good two-step to try and make my way to the bar. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve as I slam my brown tray on the countertop. I lift up the leaf and duck under, grateful for the minute space to move. 

I hate football season. Absolutely hate it. Adding to my dislike is the fact that the Redskins are playing the Seahawks *and* it rained, which means it's quarter to nine and the game's not over yet. The tips are good; the drunk, smelly men are not. Sometimes I wonder if I'm built for this anymore. I grab a dishtowel in one hand and a glass of water in the other, taking a few deep gulps as I wipe the excess condensation off the bar. 

"Hey, do we serve water in this bar?" some loud thirty-ish man yells at me, much to the delight of his friends. 

I roll my eyes; as cute as I thought the soundtrack to 'Coyote Ugly' was, that line will go down as the worst one ever. I turn around, hands on hips, and stare the guy down. 

"Yes, we do, as a matter of fact," I say sweetly. "It's in short supply, however, so I'll have to charge you forty dollars for it." 

He blinks a few times, says nothing, and turns back to the TV. I roll my eyes again and finish my water, dumping the glass in the bin under the bar. I rise, nearly knocking foreheads with the dumbass who's hanging over the edge, apparently trying to get my attention. 

I stumble back slightly, only to have the guy grab my arm to help me keep my balance. I shrug him off, readjusting my rolled up sleeve.   
  
"Sorry 'bout that, I thought I saw you fall," he says quickly, yelling over the noise of a recovered fumble. 

I shrug. "What can I get you?" I yell back, leaning my head next to his so I can hear his response. 

"If I remember correctly, you have some damn good mudslides here." He turns his head to catch my eye, and I suddenly recognize him. He's an Australian man who was in here close to eight months ago, reeling from the rejection of the love of his life. I smile at him, and nod. 

"Best ones this side of M Street," I reply. "So, what are you doing back in the States?" I call as I start to mix the drink and kick Jack in the shins. 

He shrugs, resting his elbows on the bar and leaning towards me. "Had some business at the Australian Embassy. Went longer than I thought, so I pushed back my return flight till tomorrow. The hotel was getting oppressive, so I figured I'd come and visit my favorite bartender in the city." 

I smile at him, handing him the tall iced glass. "Flattery will get you everywhere, except a free tab," I reply, shaking a finger at him. 

He holds his hands up, grinning from ear to ear. The door opens again and I sigh mentally; we're so close to capacity, it's going to drive me insane. I go up on tiptoe to see who's come in, and have to smile wider. 

It's the walking ad for happiness. He's got an arm slung over her shoulders, head bent, talking directly into her ear. She's smiling and shaking her head at him, her chocolate eyes sparkling with love for him. They're dressed rather nicely, much too nicely for my bar, but I just set about getting his Guinness and her tonic water with a twist of lime. As I grab the two glasses, I look up. They're trying to navigate the crowd, which is now going insane over a touchdown. Some guy high-fives the woman, who high-fives back, then looks back at her companion and laughs, as he's giving one of my drunk regulars the evilest eye I've ever seen. 

They seat themselves further away from the TV, her taking the end stool and him standing next to her. I hold my index finger up to Mudslide Man and pick up the two drinks, making my way the twenty feet to the other end of the bar. "Welcome back, guys," I yell over the incessant noise, and she looks at me while he checks the score. 

"Thanks," she replies, rather surprised. He looks down at me with a knowing smile in his eyes and gratefully takes the beer. 

"Busy night, Keely?" he asks, motioning to the crowd. 

"What, this? Nah, it's like this every night. They all come to see my pretty face," I reply, smiling. 

She looks like she's going to add something, but stops short, instead leaning around me to look up the bar. "Good God," she whispers, going white. 

I turn around and crane my neck, trying to see what she's looking at, but failing. I look back at the two of them. He looks like he's seen it too, and now they're simply looking at each other, having a conversation with their eyes. I look back over my shoulder, trying desperately to figure out what the hell's going on. 

As I'm straining to look, I hear the Australian's voice behind me. I turn back, and he's standing almost toe to toe with Mr. Perfect, with Ms. Perfect looking in her drink, as if trying to collect her thoughts and think of something to say. 

"Rabb." The Australian man says, then leans slightly around him to address the woman. "Hello, Sarah." 

She raises her head and smiles at him. "Hello, Mic." She pauses, taking a split second to run her left hand up and down her companion's back. "What brings you back to DC?" 

Mic shrugs, looking at the game for a minute before replying. "Had some business to attend to." 

She nods, and nothing else is said for a minute. "So, how are you?" she asks softly, and 'Rabb', Mic and I have to lean in to hear her. 

I suddenly realize how obvious I'm being, and decide to scoot down a little bit and pretend I have other things to do than eavesdrop. By the grace of God, the game's finally over, and I say a silent prayer of thanks that the Redskins actually won; that way I have happy patrons and more tips. 

Luckily for me, the register is down by the threesome. I love killing two birds with one stone. 

Rabb's moved out of Mic's way, allowing him to speak face to face with Sarah. He's still a presence, obviously, standing right behind her, but he's pretending to be interested in the post-game show instead of their conversation. 

"I've been well, thanks," Mic replies, putting his hands in his pockets. 

"That's good to hear, Mic," Sarah replies, and I can see she's trying not to look up at her companion. 

Mic nods and then looks at Rabb. "How are you, Harm?" 

Harm? Where the hell do they come up with these names? 

Harm looks at him, his jaw set tightly. He takes a deep breath and attempts to relax. "Fine, thank you." 

Mic nods again, this time looking at his feet. "I don't suppose I could have a word with Sarah alone," he finally says. Harm begins to protest, but this time Sarah does look up at him, and she nods. "I don't think a minute would be such a bad thing," she says. Harm looks from her to Mic and finally nods himself, walking and sitting directly in front of me. He's far enough away that he's giving her the space she needs, but close enough to be a menacing presence. 

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the bar clears out after a game. Within five minutes, there are only a handful of people left in O'Reilly's. I pick up the dirty glass bin and start making the rounds, conveniently starting with the tables closest to Mic and Sarah. 

Hey, I never said I wasn't nosy. 

"Are you really doing well, Sarah?" Mic asks quietly. He's turned so he's facing her profile, as she's still studiously staring at her glass. 

Finally, she raises her head to look him straight in the eye. "Yes, I am, Mic." 

He nods again, looking over in my direction. Of course, I've ducked my head by the time he might see me looking, so he just turns his attentions back to her. "That's good to know," he pauses, searching for the right words. "I wasn't, for a long time, you know." When she begins to protest, he holds up his hand, mimicking the action he did to me earlier. "I didn't say that to hurt you. I guess…I just want to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions." 

She places a hand on his right arm. "I do, Mic," she replies with vehemence. "I admit I…I didn't at the time. But things have happened over the past year that have *made* me understand the pain I put you in, and for that, I apologize from the bottom of my heart." She shakes her head. "I never meant to hurt you." 

"I believe that, Sarah," he replies quietly. He motions with his chin in Harm's direction. "He treating you all right?" 

She smiles broadly, and I remember her doing the same thing months ago when he walked in the bar. "Yeah, he's treating me just fine." 

"He'd better be," Mic says, an intense stare now focused on Sarah. 

Sarah meets his gaze and squeezes his bicep, as her hand had never moved. "Mic," she begins, "I know that whatever I say here tonight isn't going to change the way you regard me, and the ill feelings you might have towards me." She too holds up her hand when he goes to interrupt her. "Let me finish, all right? Any woman would be lucky to have you in her life. I count you as one of my blessings simply because you were the first person in a long time who actually gave a damn, and who proved to me that I was worth something as a *woman*, not just some Marine Colonel." 

Mic looks like a little lost boy when he finally interjects. "So what did I do wrong?" 

Sarah sighs, playing in her puddle. "It sounds stupid, but it wasn't you. It was me. You gave me the world on a silver platter. But I just felt wrong taking it…for every reason you gave me to love you, there was just that nagging knowledge that there was one you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried." 

"I wasn't him." Mic finishes, his shoulders slumping. 

Sarah shrugs, lifting her eyes to meet his. "I'm so sorry, Mic." 

He shrugs along with her, watching the seriously delayed ten o'clock news for a minute. "He doesn't deserve you." 

"Nor I him," she offers, a slight smile. 

He looks at her for another minute, raising a finger to trace her cheekbone. At this point, I just plop myself in a booth and watch unabashedly. This is better than General Hospital any day. 

I can see out of the corner of my eye that Harm's about ready to jump up and throttle Mic, but I can also see that unless Sarah needs his help, he's going to remain in his seat like a good boy. Sarah's offering Mic another small smile as he says, "You're happy." 

"Yes," she whispers. "Very." 

Mic nods again, biting the inside of his cheek. "You know I'm always here for you." 

Sarah smiles wider this time, raising her hand to clasp his as it rests on her cheek. "I know that, and thank you. And if you ever need anything…" 

He shakes his head. "I needed you, Sarah, but unfortunately, I came in second." 

She looks like she might cry, but simply sets her jaw. "A very, very close second, Mic. And my loss is some other lucky woman's gain." 

"There will be no other," he says sadly, looking at Harm. "There better not be for him, either, or I'll be back up here in a bloody second." 

She laughs at this and nods. "You and I can beat him to a pulp together."   


 He laughs slightly as well, then drops his hand. "You take care of yourself, you hear me, Marine?" 

She salutes him, eyes bright. "Absolutely. You, too." 

He salutes back, then offers his hand. She takes it, shaking it firmly, lingering a little longer. I guess maybe she's trying to convince herself he understands. 

She's a good actress. He's a better actor. 

He offers another slight smile and then turns on his heel. He drops a five-dollar bill near his glass, which happens to be right next to Harm. Mic leans over and picks up his coat, simply saying, "Hurt her and I'll be back." 

Harm looks up at him and nods. "Thank you for understanding, Mic." 

Mic puts on his coat and shakes his head. "I never said anything about understanding, Rabb. I will always love Sarah, but it's because I do that I won't interfere. Love isn't about declaring it out loud, it's about showing it through your actions." 

Harm looks down at his hands, nodding. Mic cuffs him on the back and then turns on his heel, leaving. 

Well, damn. 

I let out a deep breath and quickly gather the rest of the glasses on the right side of the bar, then move back to wipe off the tables as Harm joins Sarah. Her eyes are closed, head downcast, but a simple hand on her shoulder brings back the smile. She shrugs as he sits down. "Necessary evils, I guess." 

He nods understandingly. "You want to get out of here?" 

She nods gratefully. She turns and slides off the stool, giving him a nice glimpse of her leg. He smiles wider and shakes his head. "You're terrible," I can see him murmur and she simply shrugs. 

"And you owe me a foot rub when we get home. I told you these shoes were far too uncomfortable." 

Harm turns and looks at me. "We're heading out, Keely." 

I raise my dishrag in salute. "I'll see you guys next Monday!" I reply and they both laugh. He drops a bill on the bar as they leave, and I sigh. I could use a foot rub right about now. 

I gather up the last of the dishes and dump them in the sink, running the hot water to begin washing. I switch off the TV and turn on the boom box under the bar, and begin singing along. 

"It may be a long shot, it may get lonely down the line, but love knows no reason, and I won't let it make up my mind," I sing as I add the Dawn. "My money's riding on this dark horse, baby. My heart's saying it's the lucky one…" 

Jack applauds and I groan. "I told you I'd get you to sing for me," he gloats and I throw soap at him. "Shut up," I retort, focusing my energies on washing so I can get home. 

He picks up the drink list for tomorrow and motions to me. "What are the specials?" 

I let out a breath and shrug. "I don't know, make something up." 

He nods thoughtfully and then begins to write. I don't think I've ever closed up shop this fast in my entire life. Proud, I walk back behind the bar and lock the register. 

"So, how are our Navy friends?" Jack asks, peering over the top of the board. 

I shrug, then shake my head. "Not as perfect as originally thought." 

He smirks at this, finishing his writing. "No one is, Keel." 

"Whatever." I slip off my apron and hang it on the coat rack. "You ready?" 

He takes one look at the board and nods. Rising from the bar, he hangs it back in its spot and puts on his coat. "Let's rock and roll." 

"Jack, my dad's the only person that says that," I admonish. As I go to switch off the lights, I look back and notice that in my rush, I missed a glass. "Damn," I mutter. Walking back over, I realize it's the Australian's, still half-full. I shake my head as I lean over and place the mug in the sink. I wonder to myself how Sarah deals every day, knowing she hurt someone that badly. 

Although, with a boyfriend - and a love - like hers, I don't think it's that bad. 

"If only all of us were that lucky," I say quietly as I put on my coat. 

This time, I move to the door and turn off the lights, but not before I notice the drink specials for tomorrow. 

The regulars are listed, but then, written so small underneath them, and much more carefully than he ever does it, is 'Gaelic Storm Brew'. 

I shoot a look at Jack, who simply shrugs. 

"Maybe all of us *are* that lucky," he replies, walking ahead of me as I lock up. 

I look curiously at his retreating back and shrug. We part ways and I start the long walk along the river towards the GW/Foggy Bottom metro. As I walk along the Potomac and approach the Kennedy Center, I see a lone figure on the boardwalk, slouched over, head in hands. I slow my approach when the man looks up at the sky, and I recognize him as my Australian Mudslide Man. 

I cock my head and watch him. His cheeks are glistening from the tears evident in his eyes. Suddenly, he turns and looks at me, but makes no move to hastily wipe away any trace of emotion, as most men would do. I offer a sympathetic smile and walk up to him, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. "I didn't mean to intrude." 

He shrugs, moving over on the bench, allowing me to sit down. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" I offer gently. "I know we don't know each other, but sometimes it helps to just randomly talk to someone." 

He turns his head to me, and I meet his intense stare. Finally, he hangs his head again and shrugs again. "Nothing really to talk about. I guess I was just questioning the world." 

I smile slightly and wait for him to continue. 

"It was good to see her again," he begins, trying to put on a brave front. "But I still just want to shake her and ask, 'Why? Why lead me on like you did, just to take my heart and stomp on it for fun?'?" He looks at me again, straightening against the back of the bench. "I'm not really mad, per se, just hurt." 

I nod. "Understandable." 

He nods as well, sighing loudly. "Do you think it ever stops hurting?" 

I shake my head. "No. But that which does not destroy us makes us stronger." 

He smiles. "Nietzsche." 

I shrug. "I take four literature classes a semester." 

He looks out over the water and then rises, offering me a hand as well. "Thanks, Keely," he says quietly, and it's my turn to shrug. 

"Anytime you need anything, you come see me. Mudslides are on the house." 

He smiles again. "Can I escort you home?" 

Always the gentleman, even in the face of adversity. I shake my head. "I'm a big girl, I can get there, thank you." 

He nods and then motions to his watch. I nod, and he begins to walk away. I watch him retreat into the DC night, hoping he'll find some kind of solace. 

THE END


End file.
